Commander Brand Petitions for Pirates
Antechamber: Government Complex -- New Alderaan: Ord Mantell This spacious white antechamber provides access to a number of meeting rooms for Senate committees, and serves as the entry to the Senate Chambers themselves. Modern archways rise over each meeting room doorway, with simple displays indicating room numbers and accomodations. Staircases set into alcoves at even intervals allow for access to two floors above. To the east, an imposing archway and huge double doors lead into the massive Senate Chambers. This area is rarely still, with ever-present guards and staff coming and going at all hours. Thin shafts of natural light shine in from reinforced transparisteel skylights at the corners of the ceiling, accenting soft yellow hue from the room's glowlamps. The weather outside is clear. Only a few puffy, pinkish clouds spot the skyline. Looking very much the part in today's attire, the Ambassador-OFF-furlough Delgard is sitting with a rather robotic quality to her posture. Stiff. Rigid. Not appearing capable of succumbing to the smooth-talking comfort of the cushioned repulsorchair or fazed by the richness of the wood, the gentle fan of plants flanking the window, or the arrangement of caf, water, juices spread upon the small conference table serving as her desk, for now. Evenly-manicured nails tap out a nervous rhythm beside her mug, since gone cold. It isn't home, here, even with a little holo display of her daughter's face flickering between her neatly-rowed desktop accessories. A hand combs through her hair, moving to tuck it behind an ear, but quickly comes up short of locks before it finishes the course down her neck. The fingers drum harder, until she stands abruptly to answer the sudden chime from her intercom. "Accepted," she says aside into the speaker to her left and then forces herself into stillness, a feigned calm. Being back on base allows for certain comforts, one of which is regular laundry. Argon's duty uniform is clean and pressed so that it is now not a giant pile of wrinkles. His cover in hand, the short officer makes his way into the civilian home of government, feeling a little out of place. When he reaches the receptionist he says, "Commander Brand to see the ambassador." When he is buzzed through, Argon nods to Ambrosia and says after the door closes, "Glad to see you out and about, again. Can't even tell you were in the hospital a month ago." He relaxes his posture and continues, "You said you had word on the wookies?" Ambrosia's eyes crinkle just a bit in the corners, mulling over Argon's cordial compliment as it's given. Evidently it passes as being sincere, because she lifts her chin with a small, accepting smile. "I did." The ambassador clears her throat softly and takes a little sip from her cold caf while gesturing to a seat across from hers. "Please. Help yourself." Argon takes the offered seat and nods to the ambassador. It feels a little odd to be sitting here, partly because normally meetings like this are with a superior officer and thus strict protocol kicks in, whereas the civilian aspect of this throws off Argon just enough to leave him confused on how to proceed. "I am hoping that this is good news, though I will admit I am glad to be pulled away from customs duty, even for a little bit." A vaguely amused 'hmmf' issues from Delgard as she settles back into her own chair and adjusts the settings. It drops, just a barely perceivable inch. "It is not. But it is progress." Reaching with one arm, she takes hold of the caf pitcher, refills her mug halfway, then procures a little flask from somewhere under the tabletop. A silent offer of its contents is made to Argon after she pours a dollup into her own beverage. "Someone on Rendili's inner workings.../secured/ inner workings...suspects the company is using a great deal of forced labor. Hundreds, thousands, of our statuesque, hairy friends, as matter of fact. Also, the gargantuan Juuka made good on his word and contacted me a few nights ago. Had some information regarding Dosha that only confirms what we already 'knew' by way of another source. The wealthy slug IS willing to lend us a helping hand in dealing with the scaly culprits...Force only knows what it is he'll request in payment this time." "No thank you," Argon waves off the flask, "Not today, anyway. Got to check ships and the last thing I need is someone complaining about it if I write them up." He then listens about the disappearance of the wookies. "Who, or what, is Dosha? Either way, this is certainly something that needs to be dealt with." Argon takes another moment to think, "If we can't deal with them directly, we could try and enlist others to help in a... certain capacity, which could work to Juuka's advantage." Ambrosia stares, deadpan at Argon for a moment over the rim of her mug before her cheeks crease with a chuckle and she savors the warmth of alcohol as it slides soothingly down her throat. "Commander Brand, I think you could benefit from a sip more than you know." Her head tips to the right and leans forward to brace her elbows upon the table. The little gold chain around her neck twirls in shiny oscillation, suspended in gravity's cradle away from her bosom. "Dosha - Trandosha. The home world of the warring clans, one of which we suspect is responsible for this large scale abduction." Her hands pour a small amount of her special reserve into a fresh glass, then deftly top it with a little squirt of citrus from the table. One finger pushes it politely in his direction. "We could offer support to the underdog clans, the ones oppressed by the Bloodclaw's sudden rise to power. Let them overthrow the offending clan. This may not solve our problem, long term. Whoever is presently funding the Bloodclaws will do one of two things: bolster their armaments to protect their business arrangement, or strike a similar deal with whatever hoard next claims to be king of the castle." Argon grins at the comment, "You are not the first to tell me that." He relaxes as much as he can in the chair, letting his shoulders slump a little. "Ah, yes, that makes sense. I could see that being a method that will work, fund the rebels enough to keep fighting the Bloodclaws, but not so much that they become the hegemons themselves. Perpetual conflict will keep them busy a lot longer." Argon ponders for a moment, "Is there a way FleetOps could be of use in this endeavor, besides the obvious method of a blockade that will be about as effective as babysitting rancors while wearing armor made of meat?" Argon's analogy draws forth a more genuine smile from the diplomat across the table. "The information has been passed along the required channels...there are bigger fish in this pond to review it, first. I suspect it would help to distract them with a few shipment of weapons, placed into the right hands. Before we eliminate the leader of the Bloodclaws, however, it would be pertinent to determine precisely where it is the Wookiees go and, more importantly, why and for whom." A few fingers resume drumming on the tabletop. "If more concrete proof can be sent from our informant within the Rendili corporation, then some action can be taken there. A great deal of smear campaigning, I imagine, more than militant. We must remain visually the defendor, not aggressor. In the meantime, increasing Naval occupancy of Kashyyyk will help to prevent, or at least decrease, the capture and smuggling of Wookiees off world." "Didn't Rendili just get a license to produce some cruisers, or did they recently sell one?" Argon asks, "Perhaps these two things are linked. Regardless, if we want to capture ships carrying wookies I am sadly ill-equipped for that, as my ship is only good for destroying other ships, not catching them due to a lack of tractor beams." He ponders and rubs his chin in thought, "But perhaps a detachment from here on Ord could be lent to the Third Fleet on Kashyyyk for training exercises. It would not tip our hand too much." "Rendili has been producing Cruisers for eons. But I do recall hearing something about a rather large commission of ships to be produced." Absently rubbing a finger over her brow, Ambrosia turns her eyes toward a side window. There's a weightless piece of paper out there, being blustered around on the wind. "If your Admiral shares in your sentiment...this may not be a bad idea." Argon nods, "I hope so." He then sees the paper fluttering and says, "There is an alternative, but not mutually exclusive idea. We could steal the privateer idea from the Empire. Grant license, or the technical term of letter of marque and reprisal, to be given to individual private ship owners to wreak havoc on our enemies, in exchange for a pardon and the right to keep a portion of the salvage. Perhaps allowing access to our repair yards would be helpful. They would have to abstain from slavery, but I would not begrudge them smuggling within Imperial territory. It'd get some of our less-lawful society members to help us out dealing with slavers and Imperial trading. Especially if we are turning our fleet towards domestic issues." "We have hired 'privateers' before, Commander," Ambrosia casts him a wry glance before going back to paper watching. "One of them, perhaps the most wanted - at present - bit the hand that fed her, so she's off the payroll." Heaving a little sigh, she looks forward again and takes a sip of spiked caf. "I do continue to see their usefulness, however. There simply need be a better monitoring and enforcement system in play to ensure that their activities do not stray from permitted action." "Indeed," Argon says, "Firstly, the pardon is conditional on further good behavior. Secondly, ideally we would find sponsors for them, and most would ideally provide their own ship. Perhaps we look to those we can trust and make initial offers. Perhaps we could perhaps approach individuals previously in the service of the Republic with the means to support such endeavors? I know of at least one who has a small fleet, nothing horribly large, but still a bit bigger than most private fleets." He leans forward and rests his elbows on his knees, "Also, a FleetOps liaison could be of use in this endeavor. I will volunteer for it, if they want one." "They most certainly would require one," Ambrosia nods to his motion of volunteering. "You seem to have been thinking about this arrangement for quite some time, Commander. Do you have participants in mind?" "I had heard word that General te Danaan is in possession of a small fleet," Argon says, "Perhaps she would be someone to talk to about this. Also seeking out more... corporate sponsors might be the way to go. But we shall see. Worst case is that we get told no and no resources are spent on the matter. Alternatively, I can keep my eyes and ears open." "General..." Ambrosia mutters with a look that suggests she considers the woman's current station otherwise. "Johanna te Danaan is presently an item of grave concern - again - for the Jedi Order and her own family. There's no telling what she's presently up to, but whatever it is can't possibly have a smooth outcome." Palming the sudden tiredness off her face, the ambassador gives pause to her opinion of Oppenhiemer's ex wife and takes a small, recomposing breath. "Still, her wealth is seemingly boundless, much thanks to her questionable activity, no doubt. If we're to involve her, it would most certainly be off the books, for now, but...I think she could be an asset." "I am aware of her current troubles, the news won't shut up about it," Argon says casually. "But that also means that she likely could use some friends in the galaxy. At the very worst, she is a Jedi with a connection to the Republic, with the assets to do pretty much as she sees fit. While this could be a liability, it's also an opportunity." He frowns, "I am not a fan of employing less-than-reputable people, but right now we need all the help we can get. I also figure the letters will not excuse behavior deemed illegal by our government. If you want I can try reaching out to her, or I can wait and see what the higher ups think first." "What I'm talking about has not, nor should ever make it to the News..." Ambrosia adopts a contemplative frown. It's easier to beg forgiveness than permission. Sometimes. "But...If you can find her...wouldn't hurt to see what she thinks of the idea. If she seems agreeable, we can take it to the next level. In the meantime, put a bug in the Admiral's ear. See how he'd feel about having some less disciplined pilots on payroll." Argon nods, "I could feel out for the idea, off the books. Besides, why would we be accused of trying to work with someone having such troubles?" He grins, "I will see what I can do. If you need any more help with the wookiees, besides being a presence near Kashyyyk, let me know. I'll gladly help in that endeavor. Is there anything else I can do for you today, ambassador?" "That's all, for now. Just wanted to keep FleetOps in the loop with something more personal than a little memo." Offering Argon a mock 'toast' from her mug, she takes a sip then stands. "Give the Admiral my regards. I'll be in touch if anything new rises to the surface." Argon gives a nod in response to the toast. "I will do so." He rises from the seat, "I thank you for your hospitality, ambassador, and wish you the best." With that, he departs.